


Red and Blue

by rosegaarden



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Dubious Consent, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, References to Drugs, Slow Burn, Sort Of, Violent Sex, at preciousorgel's suggestion jfc, it'll get there, slowly
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-05-31 20:51:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15127586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegaarden/pseuds/rosegaarden
Summary: “Don’t think of it as blackmail.” He could almost fucking swear that plastic son of a bitch is smirking at him. “Think of it as incentive to fall in line without compromising your pride.”Honestly this is just an excuse to write about RK900 beating the shit out of Gavin and putting him in his place





	1. Chapter 1

“Fucking- you plastic prick! You piece of shit!”

 

A desk goes crashing over, who knows how many dollars worth of equipment sent shattering to the ground in a fit of rage. RK900 watches impassively at the childish display in front of him. Gavin’s temper had always been fiery, but never quite this violent, not so violent that he’s had to tilt his head out of the way of desk decorations being thrown at his head. They’re lucky no one else is in the office this late. It would certainly be a stain on his already tarnished reputation.

 

“How fucking dare you!” Gavin’s face is bright red from breathlessness as a stapler leaves his hand, lodging into the wall beside RK900’s head. He doesn’t so much as flinch. “How dare you make me look like a fucking idiot in front of everyone!”

 

“You’re upset I was smarter than you.” RK900 looks down at his wrists, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket. “Don’t take it personally, Detective Reed. You could hardly compare to a machine’s processing power, it’s not your fault I found the killer’s identity before you.”

 

“Shut up!” Gavin spits. Another piece of stationary goes flying, a pen, so light and ineffective that all it takes is RK900’s hand raising to knock it off its trajectory. Sneering, Gavin’s shoulders tense up, the distance between them closing, growing thick with tension and the threat of impending violence. “Shut up. You don’t ever upstage me, you got that? I don’t want you around as it is, let alone if you’re going to be a bootlicking little smartass trying to get a bit of praise.”

 

RK900’s head tilts at that, curious, LED turning amber for one calculating moment. His eyes are blue, stark and violently so, contrast to the red-rimmed eyes watching wildly for a reaction. “The only one asking for praise seems to be you, Detective. If you can’t contain your jealousy-”

 

A growl is his response, and Gavin reaches for his belt to pull out his gun. “You take that back, you piece of-”

 

RK900 quickly brings his hand up to Gavin’s wrist, slamming into it to knock the gun free before he even has time to hammer the safety. Out of nowhere, before Gavin can even process how close he is, or the predator, animal way he practically hoists him up onto his toes, he’s slammed against the wall with the taste of synthetic skin filling his mouth. He expected… he expected… shit, he doesn’t know what he expected. Something like silicone, or sterile. Not warm, not like flesh, he feels like a fucking person under him, fuck. Fuck.

 

He hates the way he leans into that mouth, that sound that come out of him. Almost a moan, choked and smothered by shame. It’s hard to make the world stop spinning when RK900 pulls back. “What… what the fuck, Connor?”

 

“I was testing a theory. It seems I was correct.”

 

“What the fuck are you on about--”

 

“Caution, Detective. Unless you want me to report your red ice habit.”

 

Under that steel grip, Gavin stills. It feels like his blood’s frozen over - he can’t think straight, can’t process those words properly. Fight or flight response rears up.

 

Fight wins.

 

That freezing feeling turns red hot boiling, moving his body against his volition. Not that he’d want to stop it anyway, not with how satisfying it feels to hear that perfect plastic face crack under the force of his fist. RK900’s hold on his jacket releases, leaving Gavin to collapse in a heap on the floor. Red and blue from their broken skin mixes smeared against his knuckles. He hit harder than he thought he would. Even that fucking bot seems stunned, and God if Gavin doesn’t relish in his victory at catching it off-guard, harder when RK900 turns his head to show that split running from temple to cheek. He was pretty when he bled.

 

_ He was what? _

 

Shaking the thought from his head, Gavin spits at RK900’s feet, rubbing his bleeding knuckles across his mouth. “Tell anyone and you’re dead.”

 

“It’s in our best interests to work together, Detective.”

 

“Yeah? You think blackmailing me is gonna do that, huh?”

 

“Don’t think of it as blackmail.” He could almost fucking swear that plastic son of a bitch is _smirking_ at him. “Think of it as incentive to fall in line without compromising your pride.”

 

“You piece of shit-”

 

He moves to get up, fists balled with clear violent intentions, but RK900’s foot comes down between his thighs, making him cry out in pain. Gavin’s not sure what chills him more - that RK900 is apparently capable of harming humans when it suits him, or that the LED on his temple doesn’t even waver when he does it. He’d seen it in the interrogation rooms, watched the ruthless efficiency he moved with, but seeing it up close was-

 

There’s a twitch in his anatomy, heat that pools low and viscous in his core.

 

“I’d advise you to watch your language. We can’t maintain a professional relationship built on insults.”

 

Gavin would answer if he could, if pain and sick pleasure from sensitive areas untouched in so long hadn’t stolen his voice. He only nods, head lowering like a dog put in its place, tail hung between his legs. RK900’s head tilts.

 

“Good.” He steps back and adjusts his tie back into position. “Make sure you clean your mess before you leave. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Good night, Detective Reed.”

 

Fucking prick. God damn prick. He’s still reeling from that treatment. Idiot for thinking that this thing would ever be as docile and submissive as its predecessor. Is that why Anderson refused to work with it? Fuck. Another twitch pulls at his thigh, making him curse under his breath. He was sore, tender, still unable to stand from the treatment his fucking balls got, and it filled him with the sickest kind of pleasure to remember that bloodied face looking down at him impassively.

 

Plastic prick.

 

A hand runs through his hair, trying to put it back into place as he catches his breath. No way he was going to get an android have the last word, much less Connor. He’d put that thing in its place. Somehow...


	2. Chapter 2

_ “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” _

 

_ Fowler’s expression couldn’t make it clearer how much he’s not kidding. He’s old, looking at retiring someday soon when he can find someone to replace him, the last thing he wants to be doing is sitting in an office with a spitfire begging to go off and the fucking ice sculpture standing behind him. _

 

_ One day. Anderson spent one day with the new model before refusing to work with it again. “That’s not my Connor”, he’d spat, pointing at it he was ready to hit it at a moments notice. “My Connor is gone. I’m don’t want this thing.” _

 

_ Well, Fowler didn’t want to be listening to Reed bitch, but not everyone gets what they want. _

 

_ “Come on, Captain, don’t stick me with that thing. What the hell did I do?” _

 

_ “A damn lot.” Sighing, he rubs at the bridge of his nose tiredly. “Especially that temper of yours, which you better get back in control, Reed. The only one whose got a bigger disciplinary folder than you is fuckin’ Anderson, and that’s not for lack of trying. But even he managed to clean up his act when one of these things started assisting him.” _

 

_ Gavin looks over his shoulder at RK900, sneering vicious. “I don’t need a nanny.” _

 

_ “The hell you don’t, when I can’t leave you alone on a case without you stirring up shit. I’ve let this department get away with enough crap on my watch - it’s time for you to clean up your act, and if that means giving you a nanny, then you shut your goddamn mouth and do what I tell you.” _

 

_ RK900’s head tilts curiously at the way Gavin quiets, immediately. All bark and no bite, that dog, all it took was a kick to put it in its place. That could be useful later.  Behind his optics, scans take in each visible detail of Gavin Reed, the red blemishes that flare up on his face in tandem with his anger (Eczema? Some form of rash? Discoloration of skin pigmentation?), the veins that spread like filigree around steely blue of his eyes, that stubble, such a contrast from the perfectly styled hair on his head that there can’t be any other explanation other than it’s kept rugged out of narcissism. _

 

_ A slight malfunction in his software registers as his lip curls up in distaste. The slightest expression, gone in an instant. Gavin Reed was repulsive. _

 

_ “Fine. Fine! I’ll work with it… but I’m not going to like it.” _

 

_ “No offense, Detective Reed, but I couldn’t give less of a shit how you feel about this.” _

 

_ “Fuck you too.” Gavin mutters the words under his breath, hissed and spat into nothing. Useless, empty things. “Come on, tin man, let’s go.” _

 

_ “Of course, Detective.” He follows Gavin out through the office door, stilling when it’s purposely pushed back into his face. Such petty displays of dominance, all to make himself feel in control of the situation he was thrust into. Curses flow freely as he sinks into his seat, kicking feet up onto it. RK900 simply stands behind his chair, waiting for instruction that never comes. Finally, he speaks. “We should begin  investigation into-” _

 

_ “No no, I run this operation, you got it? I’m in charge. You’re here to assist me, you’re my assistant.” _

__   
  
“I am your partner-”

_ “Call yourself that again and see what happens. I’ll give you a hit, it’s going to be my fist breaking your nose.” Gavin rubs at his eyes, itches at his skin. He’s hot, uncomfortable, shaking mess trying to process how fucked up his life suddenly got because Anderson couldn’t stop being a whiny little bitch about Connor. What made him so great anyway? CyberLife’s most advanced model - big fucking deal. Gavin graduated top of his class in the academy, no one was patting his back for existing. Hell, this thing could end up replacing him for all he knew. Bunch of bullshit. “Go get me some coffee or something.” That’d take the edge off. _

 

_ “... Of course, Detective.” _

 

_ That made him feel better. Control… all he needed was a little bit of control. Maybe having this thing around wouldn’t be so bad if it was good at following orders. Play his cards right, and he could get a promotion out of this - rage and violent temper hid an intellect under it all, driven by ambition to succeed. And an android… well, they’re replacing jobs for a reason. It shouldn’t be too hard to convince it to do the work, let him take the credit. _

 

_ He nods to himself as nails itch down into his arm. This could work. This could definitely work. _   
  


* * *

 

He’s seeing stars.

 

Those things were strong enough to bend steel - Gavin had seen that with his own eyes. RK900 held back, and he knew it, but it didn’t stop his head from pounding. His hair was still burning from the sensation of being gripped tight before that fucking tin can shoved his forehead down into his desk, everything smelled like coffee, tasted like blood.

 

RK900’s eyes are sharp, cutting steel through the haze of his clearing vision, and he could swear that LED was burning crimson for one brilliant moment but doesn’t have the clarity to back that claim up. “You’re disappointing me, Detective Reed.”

 

Coffee stains are already soaking into the perfect white of his perfect jacket, burning the perfect plastic that made up his perfect skin to show the metal casing underneath. Not so fucking perfect now, Gavin thinks, but the victory is bittersweet because he can hear Hank’s grating chuckle from a desk over. “You looked thirsty.”

 

“I hope you’re aware my repairs will be coming out of your paycheck.”

 

“They gonna fix your fucking personality for me while you’re there?”

 

He shrinks down slightly when RK900 starts moving towards him - stalking towards him, predator trapped inside synthetic skin, and there’s that heat again that pools down deep in his core from the way he towers over him. It only builds when the android’s voice dips into a low whisper, making his anatomy twitch in the best and worst of ways.

 

“I had thought, after our discussion, you’d be slightly less antagonistic. Unless you want me to hurt you, Detective Reed. If that’s the case, I would prefer we do it off hours.”

 

“Wait a fucking minute-” Chills run through him, fear, it has to be fear, there’s no fucking way he’s delighted at the thought of that. He’s scared, and this is fucked up. But not really scared. Not of a fucking robot. Fuck.

 

RK900 doesn’t let him finish, turning on his heel. “I’m going to change into something clean. I hope you’ll have made progress by the time I’m back.”

 

“Don’t walk away from me!” Gavin shouts after him. He doesn’t so much as turn his head in response. Beside him, Hank’s infuriating little chuckle flares up again.

 

“Smooth, Gavin. Very smooth. Really showed it who’s boss.”

 

“Fuck off, Anderson. Go wank off thinking about your dead sex bot.” It’s cruel, cutting, enough to silence Hank after a grumbled “fuck you”. Hardly satisfying. Nothing was satisfying enough for Gavin anymore, not since RK900 came along. It was like there was this itch he couldn’t scratch, and no red ice was enough to soothe it. Something else was tugging at him.

 

Right now it was his fucking cock. Groaning into his hands, Gavin lets his face fall against the desk. Maybe he could sneak off for a quick break in the bathroom stalls, take that edge off, think about a new method for fucking with the princely prick. There had to be a way to come out on top, there had to...


	3. Chapter 3

“Detective?”

“Jesus. What is it, Connor?”

The air outside the crime scene is unnervingly cool and crisp. Nights like this always felt like they should be dreary, like there should be a sheet of rain making the world turn hazy and so dark the moonlight can’t break through, but instead the streets are bright from streetlamps and the flickering reds and blues of police cars left flashing. God bless the dead guy for having a seat out on his porch.

“You stormed out suddenly.”

“I needed air. I was pissed.”

RK900 watches curiously, hands clasped behind his back. Those gross fucking hands, they probably had blood on them still, who knows what the fuck else. Does he wash them? Maybe they wash themselves. Trust fucking CyberLife to come up with something like that, the creeps.

“God. This is bullshit.” Gavin’s hand scratches at his arm through his jacket, trying to dig through softened leather down to his skin. Maybe further. Maybe he’ll scratch so far down that he reaches his very bones and then he can pull these fucking cravings out of him. The sensation only gets worse when RK900 sits next to him, straight backed, not moving a fucking inch. “This is bullshit,” Gavin repeats, and the android’s head tilts slightly, so he takes that as indication to continue. “Me getting stuck with Anderson’s shit just because he got soft on that plastic toy of his.”

“You’re referring to my predecessor?”

“Yeah… yeah that thing. Connor.” Gavin sneers, feeling himself start to rock back and forth. Fuck. He needs a hit so badly. “But you’re Connor now, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Connor… I never liked you. Didn’t like you when you were practically sucking Anderson’s cock for attention, sure as shit don’t like you now.”

“It doesn’t matter whether you like me or not, Detective Reed. What matters is that my mission is completed.”

He can’t take this anymore. Gavin stands up, starts pacing, hands twitching at his sides in irritation, looking for something to grab onto, something to dig into, something to cut through his aggression like a knife and bleed all the violence out of him. “You know, you’re really starting to piss me off. Acting all… high and mighty like you’re above me.”

RK900 doesn’t respond to that, in any way, save for a few slow blinks and a slow tilt of his head.

“... What? Come on. Speak, you piece of shit. Say something.”

“Your hostility seems to be centered around Lieutenant Anderson.”

Those words drive themselves right into Gavin’s spine, stop him, paralyze him, leave him breathless and speechless. How’s he supposed to answer that. Of course he hates Lieutenant fucking Anderson, anyone in their right mind would hate Lieutenant fucking Anderson. Washed up, drunk fucking old man with his comfortable rank he didn’t deserve anymore, should be going to someone else who wouldn’t show up late and hung over, wouldn’t go on benders that made him disappear. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fucking fair.

But he can’t say all that. Even if he wants to, all the words catch in his throat, make him feel sick, ill, for even thinking them. All he can do is lick his lips and snap “What’s your fucking point?”

“There was no point.”

“Then don’t say it! Fuck…” Itchy, itchy… his nails start scraping at the back of a palm as he begins pacing. RK900’s eyes are boring bright blue pinpricks into the back of his flushed red neck.

“Detective, you’re experiencing Red Ice withdrawals-”

He expects it - he sees the way Gavin’s heart rate suddenly spikes, all the small and soft twitches that lead to him turning, hand extended. But he calculated WRONG WRONG WRONG in streaming red error and failure messages against his optics because Gavin’s palm is open and it’s pushing hard against his mouth until his head hits back against the wall with a sickening crack of plastic. “Shut up. Shut the fuck up. Everyone is inside, do you want them all to hear you, you piece of shit?”

The LED at RK900’s temple splits into a violent crimson, diagnostics working overtime to process that - that - that he was WRONG that there’s a split in the back of his casing and Thirium is leaking from it in bright blue trickles. Gavin feels his wrist gripped bruising tight, for him, for RK900 whose skin around his fingers melts away to show the plastic casing underneath it, and suddenly Gavin’s feeling his head crack against the porch seat while he’s pinned down by the throat.

“Do not. Ever touch me, Reed.” His voice is so low and dripping malice it doesn’t sound like him, doesn’t sound like Connor, any Connor. “That is twice now you’ve required me to seek repairs. If you can’t control yourself again, then you will regret it.”

Gavin wants to say something but he can’t even speak, can’t take a breath, and god if it isn’t somehow the hottest thing he’s ever experienced. Maybe that’s just fear mixing itself up with arousal - it happens, he’s felt that before. Out in the line of duty in high-stress situations. Having to rub one out after almost getting shot to death because god if that doesn’t do something beautiful to your ego. One of his hands reaches up to paw pathetically at RK900’s wrist while his hips are making little grinds against the air.

Finally, the fucking android lets him breathe, and Gavin slides down onto the porch floor, gasping in greedy lungfuls of air. “Fuck…”

“Get up.” RK900 straightens his jacket, turning away from the pathetic mess beside him. “And get in the car.”

“I beg your fucking pardon?”

“You can’t work in this state - we’re going to take a twenty minute break and when we come back, the investigation will continue. I won’t have you missing details.”

He can’t think straight, make sense of those words or what the hell they mean but… what else can he do? Slowly, Gavin starts to stand, though his movement is shaky from having his head pushed around like a discount ping pong ball. “Where are we going, you shit?”

“Somewhere private.”


	4. Chapter 4

The air in the car is thick with tension that neither of them can break. RK900 because he doesn’t sense it, couldn’t care less how uncomfortable Gavin feels, and Gavin because he’s still trying to mentally will his hardon to disappear. It was fucking uncomfortable, just burning there against his thigh begging to be touched, aching, occasional twitch whenever his mind drifts idly to the sensation of being roughly choked and held in place. Held down. Nothing but a palm making him skirt the line between breathing and suffocating-

“Detective Reed, control your arousal.”

He chokes at that, throwing a glare in RK900’s direction. As if it wasn’t his fault this was happening in the first place. “Where are we going, tin can?”

“I told you, somewhere private.” The car stops earlier than Gavin would have guessed, pulling into some dark secluded alleyway so its mass blocks the entrance. He wonders idly whether that’s to keep everyone out, or keep him in. “Patience was all you needed. Get out.”

His mouth opens to snap and protest, but RK900 is already out the door, slamming it in Gavin’s face. Prick. He should just leave him here and let him walk back to the crime scene on his own, take the car and run. But.

But.

But Gavin is fucking curious and it’s a horrible curse that leaves him swearing as he gets out of the car to follow RK900 further into the fucking murder alley that who knows how many people have been stabbed in. A shiver runs through him, making him bundle down into his leather jacket. “Alright, I’m here. Now what?”

“Get on your knees.”

His dick fucking spasms.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, Detective Reed.” He watches that smug bastard adjust the cuffs of his jacket, rolling them up slowly. Perfectly precise folds of fabric that creep up and expose his skin, perfectly smooth with soft freckles pressed against, making him look almost softer than he really is. It leaves his mouth dry, makes him lick his lips. What the fuck is wrong with him? This isn’t some ‘you roughed me up and fuck it felt good’ sensation, he’s legitimately getting turned on by a robot showing off its skin.

Hell no. If he wanted that, he could go to the Eden Club. There was no way, no way in hell, that he was… attracted to RK900. “Connor, if you’ve suddenly developed a sense of humour, I’m happy for you, but don’t use it with me. I can’t believe you dragged me all the way out here for this.”

“Kneel, Detective.” The word snaps out like a whip crack, so sharp and demanding Gavin actually stumbles back a bit. “Or I’ll make you.”

He’s stuck still, every muscle in his body locked up, tight wound waiting to snap, wanting to rebel. He wants to drive his fist back into that pretty plastic face and feel it break. How dare he order him around? An android!

He’s at least glad there’s no one around to see the hit his pride takes when he lowers down onto his knees obediently. “If you just bought me out here to suck your strap-on, you’re gonna be sent back to CyberLife in a shoebox.”

“Is that what’s on your mind, Detective?” Bastard. He walked right into that. Shame paints his face in red splotches. “I’m afraid I’ll have to disappoint you - but you will have to open your mouth. You seem good at that already.”

“Fuck you.”

“That appears to be your desire.”

“God, fuck you.” The bastard’s fiddling with his fingers, looking down at each individual fingertip with one of those blank, soulless expressions that sends a shiver through Gavin because it only makes it sink in that there’s an android standing over him giving orders and, even if he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s getting off on it. 

“Are you aware of the components of Red Ice?” RK900 sees how Gavin flinches, adding an irritated “We can speak freely, detective, the area is secluded.”

“Maybe I don't fucking feel like talking about it.”

“The question, Detective Reed, please answer it.” It takes a moment, but Gavin shakes his head. “Acetone, lithium, toluene, hydrochloric acid and -” Rk900’s fingertips on his left forefinger and middle finger begin to sprout bright blue blossoms, flowering up through his carefully made wounds. 

“- thirium. That's the active component, and what you're currently craving.”

Gavin feels himself lick his lips, watching those fingers intent, enraptured. “That's the shit in your blood.”

“Yes. I'm going to satiate your cravings enough for you to focus on this investigation without your insecurities directed towards Lieutenant Anderson affecting your judgement. Now please - open your mouth.”

It hits him.

Fuck, does it hit him.

That android wants to make him drink its blood.

“You- You've gotta be fucking kidding me…”

RK900’s LED circles, dipping into amber tones that paint his features into sharp shapes. “My mission is to locate and capture deviants to be detained by CyberLife. I would not interrupt it simply to antagonise you.”

He can't. There's no way in hell. He's not going to sit here on his knees in this filth sucking out of RK900’s fingers like a baby bottle. He's going to get up, and walk back to the car, leave this dickhead in his perverse alleyway where he belongs. That's what he tells himself. That's what he fucking tells himself, but his legs aren't lifting, because he knows he needs a hit and he needs it bad. Just the thought of satiating his cravings draws up animal desperation in him.

All it takes is fingers being pressed gently against his lips for Gavin to open his mouth.

It doesn't really taste like anything - part of him is disappointed about that. He expected a chemical burn on his tongue, or medicine taste, or hell maybe they give them flavours like sick gushers - that sure sounds like something he’d do the fucking maniac - but instead his mouth feels like it's being gently probed with a rubber glove. Running along his tongue, coating his mouth thick with the stuff.

“Swallow it.”

The thought of closing his mouth around those plastic fingers, much less sucking at them, makes him feel ill, makes him twitch intimately, painfully. He needed to do something about that soon before his balls turned as blue as his mouth. When he doesn’t comply, RK900’s fingers press, shove themselves roughly down Gavin’s throat, making him gag and pull away to cough and spit out all that thirium.

It all comes up to meet him when RK900 steps on the back of his neck and shoves his head into the pavement.

“That thirium is more expensive than your paycheck, Detective Reed. Anything you waste will be coming out of your paycheck. Now clean it up.”

That’s where he draws the line. Finally, his sense snaps back to him, making him buck and writhe. “Fuck you! I’m not licking the goddamn pavement, you psychopath!”

“Then swallow, and there won’t be a mess to clean.” RK900 starts messing with his fingers again, looking down, not even giving Gavin the fucking decency to look at him. “You’re not getting up until you fall in line, Detective. Can you do that?”

It takes longer than he’d like for Gavin’s tantrum to subside, but finally he stills, with his nails scrabbling at the pavement desperately. RK900 notes boredly that he’s even humping the pavement, and a software instability registers at the disgust that floods his system at the sight. “Alright. Alright! I can fucking behave, just let me up you piece of shit.”

The foot slides away, letting Gavin raise back up to his knees with no shortage of gasps and a few gropes at his crotch that was burning from going untouched so long under this rough treatment. Fuck. Fuck this was too much for him. Arousal ate away at his defences, making him open his mouth for RK900’s fingers without being prompted, though it’s forced open further when the forefinger and middle finger of his left hand press in as well.

He can’t breathe. God, he can’t breathe and he doesn’t want to, thirium trickles down his tilted back throat, filling him, and it’s not enough to satisfy his cravings but it must be doing something good to him. “Don’t let a drop spill, Detective.” RK900 tells him. Gavin’s hands are already coming up to catch the saliva dripping down his jaw, afraid that if he doesn’t follow orders, he might get pushed against the pavement again and forced to lick it clean like some back-alley whore. He feels like a back-alley whore, on his knees for Connor’s amusement.

His cock twitches again.

“That will do.” Fingers pull themselves from Gavin’s mouth, saliva stained and blue soaked until his artificial skin smoothes over again. Gavin hears himself fucking whine from how he pulls away, leaves his throat empty. Gasping again, bending over to touch his head against the pavement and suck in greedy lungfuls of breath, he can see the spotless toe of RK900’s shoe tap once, twice, irritably. “I’ll wait for you in the car. It seems you need a moment.”

“Hey, wait-” He reaches out, grabs onto the fabric of his pants - wrong move. RK900 sends that polished leather up so that it cracks against Gavin’s nose. “Fuck!”

“I thought I told you not to touch me.”

“You- You can’t just walk away. I need to be good for the investigation right?” His mind is screaming at him to shut up, but his body is too bruised and edged, worked up, aching for him to listen. “So… You need to suck me off.”

Silence hangs thick in the air between them, only broken by the occasional drip of blood from Gavin’s broken nose. Nothing serious, he’s had worse, but it’s still pooling into his hand and spilling over, making bright drops in the already fading blue stains of thirium. For a moment he thinks that maybe he’s managed to catch RK900 off guard, finally gotten a one up on that cocky son of a bitch, until he speaks and Gavin feels a tremble flow through him.

“If you need orgasm so badly, do it yourself. The alleyway is unoccupied. I’ll wait for you in the car.”

His heels click along the pavement as he walks away.


End file.
